


there's a starman waiting in the sky

by quodthey



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-16
Updated: 2011-07-16
Packaged: 2017-10-21 11:12:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/224548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quodthey/pseuds/quodthey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor leaves and once again you are alone with Mr Nixon in this large room with its even larger silence, too big to be confined to just the Oval Office.</p><p>It sounds a little bit like regret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	there's a starman waiting in the sky

The Doctor leaves and once again you are alone with Mr Nixon in this large room with its even larger silence, too big to be confined to just the Oval Office.

It sounds a little bit like regret.

.

You arrive home to the sound of a piano and pause for a moment outside, just to listen. The door creaks the same way it did six months ago and nothing has changed. It stops as you accidentally close the door slightly too loud and there are footsteps on the wooden floor.

You didn’t realise quite how much you had missed Matthew until you are holding him tightly, breathing him in and you don’t ever want to let go, now that you know what is out there. Out There. You want to stay here forever, in this tiny hallway and pretend that it is safe. That the two of you are safe. Safe as houses. He’ll make sure of it.

The Doctor will keep you safe.

.

When you were a child, your father said that all good things must come to an end but you didn’t understand. You were seven years old and the furthest you could think ahead was to next week, when you would get out of school. The holidays would never end.

You think now that you understand.

Matthew thinks it strange that you have suddenly taken such an interest in astronomy and while he used to have to convince you to _leave the house for a change, Canton_ he now spends his time trying to get you to _come inside from the cold_ and saying that _it’s late, don’t you want to come to bed?_

You say that it is because of a person you met. A wonderful man. Brilliant.

You don’t notice how your partner goes silent at those words.

.

He says _you’re different_ and you aren’t sure if he means that as a good thing or a bad thing. You smile anyway and ask what’s for dinner.

.

Four months after the Doctor leaves in his box, and things fade as if they were left in the sun for too long; it is not as vivid nor as beautiful to remember but it is there and important and you will not forget.

The way he beamed. How the engines sounded. The delightterrorexcitement that you have missed since you were fired.

You will not forget.

.

You tell him everything (that isn’t classified) and Matt thinks that you are insane.

You don’t blame him. Sometimes you wonder if you are.

.

Matthew is gone for days on end, business he says, but you can see in his eyes that he is uncertain - of how to talk to you, of how to touch you (should he be gentle like you are made of spun glass or should he treat you like normal?), of how to be. When he is gone, you can pretend that you are in the silence of the TARDIS.

You can almost hear the faint hum of the machine, if you hold still for long enough and ignore the deafening silence pressing down on you, with no Doctor there to fill it with his excited chatter or explanations.

No Doctor. No Doctor. No Doctor no Doctor no Doctor no Doctor _no Doctor_. It is a frightening thought in its bleakness and you smile a little less than you used to because everything pales in comparison to how he burns bright bright bright like a sun.

Then you remember Matthew and how much he loves you and your heart stutters for a moment as you hate yourself for doing this to him.

You stop for a moment and orient yourself; remind yourself that your are in America, on Earth, not the TARDIS.

And try to ignore how your heart clenches and how it becomes just a little bit harder to breathe.  
.

You can still see the way he looked at you when you close your eyes.

(Sometimes, late at night, you hold Matthew close to you and listen to his heartbeat.

You are always slightly disappointed that there is no echo.)

.

In the end, you write letters. To everyone, to no one. To the stars. To people.

 _Dear Doctor,_ some of them start, then you score that out.

But, no. _Dear Doctor_ , you write again, more confident. _They say that writing letters helps, whoever ‘they’ are. Maybe they’ll help me get over this infatuation_ , some of them say.

Those letters have ‘ _love, Canton_ ’ at the bottom, but it is hidden under the thick black ink, replaced with ‘ _Sincerely, Canton._ ’ Formal. It is easy to be formal.

Maybe you should have a drink. Whiskey sounds good.

.

The first time you kissed (if it can even be counted), the two of you were alone in the console room.

The Doctor was excited and talking animatedly, arms waving and voice rising and falling like music.

You don’t know what exactly prompted you to do it, but you leaned in when he turned to explain something to you and his arms stopped waving and he stilled.

He didn’t respond and you were afraid, so you turned and fled in search of the others, and nearly fell over your own feet trying to get out.

You didn’t listen when he called your name, but you paid a lot of attention when he cornered you in the library two days later.

.

A lot can happen in six months.

(Stay quiet, though. Don’t ask, don’t tell. Don’t let him know.)

.

There is a man wearing a tweed jacket standing at the bus stop and for a moment you fool yourself into thinking that it is him.

Your heart skips a beat and you freeze but when he turns around you see that it is not him, just as this girl with the red hair was not Miss Pond and the scrawny man was not her husband.

You think that now it has gone far enough.

Whatever ‘it’ is.

.

You tell Matthew the rest, now. You speak quietly and avoid his eyes as you tell him about the Other Man (and how ridiculous that sounds to you when it’s used to refer to the Doctor), your dirty little secret. A few stolen kisses when you were alone and some wandering hands, fingers lingering and glances out of the side of your eye. The want - the need - for more.

You don’t mean to sound so fond or so longing when you talk about him.

He stands up and walks out and you know that you won’t be able to stop him and don’t expect to see him again.

.

There is news of a car crash three weeks later.

.

The piano is as silent as a grave.

.

The TARDIS is in your living room not even a week after that.

You can’t help but scream, yell at him and fight even though you know that he is there for you, that he wants to help you.

He’s always there.

.

You say yes and you don’t look back.

.

You write another letter, after you have been in the TARDIS for (days? weeks? months?) a while. It is addressed to your parents, half finished and will never be sent.

 _Dear mom and dad_ , you start. _A while ago there was a man who_ \- you stop. Think. How to finish that sentence? Who broke in to the Oval Office with three of his friends and a big blue box? Who saved us all? Who showed me how huge and wonderful and brilliant the universe is?

 _A while ago there was a man who changed my life_

You don’t know how to finish the letter, so you hide it under a pile of books that you have accumulated on different planets and social etiquette.

.


End file.
